There sure is a lot of Eurotrash in London. There's a lot of Eurotrash everywhere in Europe, to be sure. I mean, you can't really escape French people in France, or Italians in Italy. Turns out you can't escape them in the UK, either. How do you identify Eurotrash, or distinguish it from ordinary Europeans? Four easy steps!
1) Cigarette in hand. I mean, that one should be a no-brainer. Forget carbon dioxide emissions, the Kyoto Protocol ought to deal with the perpetual cloud of cigarette smoke that Europe is choking under.
2) Tight jeans. Especially around the calves and ankles. This one applies to men and women!
3) General rudeness. Loud conversations across a train car, no heed paid to other pedestrians, ignoring the clear (and multi-lingual) instructions to "keep moving" in the chapels in Westminster Abbey.
4) Blatant tourism. Not that we Americans aren't guilty of this--we are, far more often than I'd like us to be--but Eurotrash take it to a whole new level. Please, stop holding up traffic on the Tube to consult your "Londra" guidebook.
In England, the English is largely very good, as you might assume. Sentences are concise but complete, and always informative. "We're working to renovate the escalators for this Tube station. These repairs will last until late 2011." That, as opposed to what you'd see on, say, Marta: "ESCALATORS UNDER RENOVATION", without the luxury of punctuation, let alone a verb.
There's a handful of linguistic anomalies that the Brits are fond of, though, that don't make too much sense to me. For example, see how I used "that" in that last sentence? It's a relative pronoun, designed to introduce the clause "the Brits are fond of". There, "that" is the "correct" pronoun to use, because it's a restrictive clause. The information is necessary to make the sentence make sense. In Britain, however, "which" seems to be used for any relative clause, regardless of restriction. "That" seems to be reserved for a demonstrative pronoun. And that's sure not what I learned in high school English class.
But one thing I do remember learning in high school English, that I thought completely insane at the time, is the use of singular nouns that "act" as plural. "The family are coming to dinner", as opposed to "the family is coming to dinner." Apparently, because "family" is understood to contain more than one person, it's treated as a plural noun.
"No, nobody talks like that," I remember complaining back in high school. We use "family is", because we're talking about only one family. "Families are", for more than one family, and "members of the family are", if we're concerned with the individuals more than the group.
Turns out that people do talk like that--just not often in the United States. You hear it the most in talk about sporting teams. Here, we'd say "the Braves are looking to do better than 4th place this year," but "Atlanta is". In Britain, you get "Chelsea are looking to place well in next year's Champions League." So maybe this actually is correct English--but it's completely alien to American speakers, and I don't think it makes a great deal of sense anyhow.
The British culinary tradition is much maligned--and really, I can think of few things less appetizing than a giant pile of peas next to my sandwich--but English breakfast really ought to be regarded along with the best cooking in the world. Toast (and the Brits do love their toast), eggs, "bacon" (which is more a slab, like Canadian bacon, than the crispy strips that we're used to), sausage (which I think is required to come along with every meal), coffee or tea, juice. That part is expected.
Then you look to the other side of your plate and notice... baked beans? Mushrooms? A tomato? What trickery is this?
Delicious, is what it is.
Currently listening: "Klavier", Rammstein
Showing posts with label Europe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Europe. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Discussion of Europe, Part 3: Where to Go
If you're going to be abroad for two and a half months, like I was, you probably don't need a great deal of direction regarding where to go. Chances are you won't be spending upwards of half your time in Metz, France in that case either--and you're better off for it. Nothing against Metz, really. It's a fine town: plenty of history, one of the best cities to experience Lorraine culture, and all in all a decent place to spend a few hours in a train layover. The Moselle's Obligatory River Shot compares to some of the finest in Europe, like the Rhone or the Saone. That said, Metz falls short in two key areas.
The first is "having anything to do after 8 pm." This includes getting anything to eat anywhere except for maybe the kebab shop. (Of course, even if that restaurant is still open, you'll pay eighteen Euros for the pleasure of eating there.) Apparently there's a couple of clubs hidden somewhere if you're into that sort of thing, but some of my classmates who are into that sort of thing didn't seem too impressed with the local nightlife in any case. You can always see whatever big American movies are out with varying degrees of success in their French dubbing. Word of caution: it's better to see a movie that you don't really have to think about what's going on. Pirates 3 was not a good choice in this regard. The bus schedule even ceases running normally after 9 pm, when you'll have to rely on the once per hour "Route tardif" to get anywhere at all.
Metz's only other shortcoming is "having anything to do at all in the Technopole." You hear "college campus" and you think it's going to be like Tech's. Spread out and too much car traffic, an unacceptable amount of construction most of the time--but otherwise peaceful and attractive. Green space, places to buy food and necessities in walking distance, amenities and at least some sort of solidarity-building locations, traditions, etc. There's really none of that. College campus here means you're in a dorm (which is actually a little nicer than Tech dorms) in walking distance to your one academic/administrative/student services building. And in between? Road. Offices. Urban bus service. More offices. You can go to the grocery store, certainly, but it'll take 20 minutes to walk there, then you have to walk back with your junk.
Where to, then, if not Metz? First off, you know I'm no big fan of France. Overrated in almost every regard, you can get just about everything that you can get in France elsewhere in Europe except 1) cheaper and 2) with better service. A major concern when going to Europe, of course, is willingness either to speak English or to navigate their way through your broken attempts at the local language. Now you might be conversational in German, or approaching fluency in Spanish, and that's really impressive. If you're going to say that you have the same level of mastery of Dutch or Catalan, I'm going to go ahead and call BS on that. People use English as a sort of mutually agreed upon mediation language. Take the Viennese tower I visited. The German-speaking man who was handing out information on the tower and the Korean man who'd brought his son finally settled on an informational flyer in English. Or the Italian train conductor who was trying to negotiate with the Russian man about his passport? English again.
English proficiency is generally very good in Germanic countries, or in countries where Germanic languages are spoken. Maybe that's due to linguistic similarity, maybe to straight-up cultural differences; I'm not sure. But it's very easy to communicate in English in Germany and Austria, and not too bad in Switzerland and the Netherlands (or Dutch-speaking Belgium). Spain and Italy fall a little behind, but communication is still generally possible. Even people who don't speak a word of English (like the owners of those wonderful "little granny hotels") really try to get across what they're trying to say.
Now that you're able to talk to the locals, what's worth visiting? A country-by-country guide:
In Spain, one of my travel guides said trying to choose between Madrid and Barcelona is like trying to choose between London and Paris. This is apparently a more difficult choice for the author of this book than for me. I'd compare it more to trying to choose either New York or Chicago. Both are wonderful cities, both are worth a visit, and honestly I think it's better to shortchange them both by spending half your time in each than to miss either. Madrid is Spain. Bullfights, sangria, and flamenco, and everything else you could think Don Quixote missed out on while he was jousting against windmills. Barcelona is something completely different: artistic, independent, and modern. Apparently it has a great club/bar scene too. Both are culturally phenomenal.
On any trip to Europe, London is not to be missed. I was in London for longer than any other single city (except Metz, of course), and here is a list of things I didn't get to do that I'd still like to.
and even here, I'm probably forgetting things. London is a remarkable city, with especially easy public transportation, and English generally spoken. Even though it has a funny accent.
In Germany, I think Munich is essential. Bavaria in general is great--and that's not just the inherent Catholic bias I have. Pretzels, check. Sausage, check. Cuckoo clocks, check. Dirndls, check. Magnificent palaces, check. Depressing concentration camp sites and other World War II memorabilia, check. Beer... you've got no idea. And unlike most other countries' beer (especially America's), it's actually worth putting in your mouth.
I've already discoursed on Rome. Go there. The only danger in visiting Rome is that Roman ruins across the rest of the world seem a lot less impressive. Naples is sort of dirty and obnoxious, too urban for my tastes. Two huge saving graces: the best pizza you will ever taste, and Pompeii, which is the quintessential Roman ruin. Switzerland is really pretty, though too Protestant for my tastes. I mean, 20 foot statue of John Calvin in the middle of town square in Geneva? That's a little much.
Finally, towns that I would have really liked to go to, and would very much like to visit on a later European excursion: Dublin, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Prague, Florence, Venice, Berlin, Budapest. We'll see if that ever materializes.
Currently listening: Singularity, Mae. Review soon to follow.
The first is "having anything to do after 8 pm." This includes getting anything to eat anywhere except for maybe the kebab shop. (Of course, even if that restaurant is still open, you'll pay eighteen Euros for the pleasure of eating there.) Apparently there's a couple of clubs hidden somewhere if you're into that sort of thing, but some of my classmates who are into that sort of thing didn't seem too impressed with the local nightlife in any case. You can always see whatever big American movies are out with varying degrees of success in their French dubbing. Word of caution: it's better to see a movie that you don't really have to think about what's going on. Pirates 3 was not a good choice in this regard. The bus schedule even ceases running normally after 9 pm, when you'll have to rely on the once per hour "Route tardif" to get anywhere at all.
Metz's only other shortcoming is "having anything to do at all in the Technopole." You hear "college campus" and you think it's going to be like Tech's. Spread out and too much car traffic, an unacceptable amount of construction most of the time--but otherwise peaceful and attractive. Green space, places to buy food and necessities in walking distance, amenities and at least some sort of solidarity-building locations, traditions, etc. There's really none of that. College campus here means you're in a dorm (which is actually a little nicer than Tech dorms) in walking distance to your one academic/administrative/student services building. And in between? Road. Offices. Urban bus service. More offices. You can go to the grocery store, certainly, but it'll take 20 minutes to walk there, then you have to walk back with your junk.
Where to, then, if not Metz? First off, you know I'm no big fan of France. Overrated in almost every regard, you can get just about everything that you can get in France elsewhere in Europe except 1) cheaper and 2) with better service. A major concern when going to Europe, of course, is willingness either to speak English or to navigate their way through your broken attempts at the local language. Now you might be conversational in German, or approaching fluency in Spanish, and that's really impressive. If you're going to say that you have the same level of mastery of Dutch or Catalan, I'm going to go ahead and call BS on that. People use English as a sort of mutually agreed upon mediation language. Take the Viennese tower I visited. The German-speaking man who was handing out information on the tower and the Korean man who'd brought his son finally settled on an informational flyer in English. Or the Italian train conductor who was trying to negotiate with the Russian man about his passport? English again.
English proficiency is generally very good in Germanic countries, or in countries where Germanic languages are spoken. Maybe that's due to linguistic similarity, maybe to straight-up cultural differences; I'm not sure. But it's very easy to communicate in English in Germany and Austria, and not too bad in Switzerland and the Netherlands (or Dutch-speaking Belgium). Spain and Italy fall a little behind, but communication is still generally possible. Even people who don't speak a word of English (like the owners of those wonderful "little granny hotels") really try to get across what they're trying to say.
Now that you're able to talk to the locals, what's worth visiting? A country-by-country guide:
In Spain, one of my travel guides said trying to choose between Madrid and Barcelona is like trying to choose between London and Paris. This is apparently a more difficult choice for the author of this book than for me. I'd compare it more to trying to choose either New York or Chicago. Both are wonderful cities, both are worth a visit, and honestly I think it's better to shortchange them both by spending half your time in each than to miss either. Madrid is Spain. Bullfights, sangria, and flamenco, and everything else you could think Don Quixote missed out on while he was jousting against windmills. Barcelona is something completely different: artistic, independent, and modern. Apparently it has a great club/bar scene too. Both are culturally phenomenal.
On any trip to Europe, London is not to be missed. I was in London for longer than any other single city (except Metz, of course), and here is a list of things I didn't get to do that I'd still like to.
- Go inside the Tower
- National Gallery
- Harrod's
- Afternoon tea
- Other half of the British Museum
- London Eye
- Some boat thing down the Thames
- Globe Theater
- See a play (the theater district rivals or maybe even surpasses New York's)
- Go into Westminster Abbey
- Observe Parliament
and even here, I'm probably forgetting things. London is a remarkable city, with especially easy public transportation, and English generally spoken. Even though it has a funny accent.
In Germany, I think Munich is essential. Bavaria in general is great--and that's not just the inherent Catholic bias I have. Pretzels, check. Sausage, check. Cuckoo clocks, check. Dirndls, check. Magnificent palaces, check. Depressing concentration camp sites and other World War II memorabilia, check. Beer... you've got no idea. And unlike most other countries' beer (especially America's), it's actually worth putting in your mouth.
I've already discoursed on Rome. Go there. The only danger in visiting Rome is that Roman ruins across the rest of the world seem a lot less impressive. Naples is sort of dirty and obnoxious, too urban for my tastes. Two huge saving graces: the best pizza you will ever taste, and Pompeii, which is the quintessential Roman ruin. Switzerland is really pretty, though too Protestant for my tastes. I mean, 20 foot statue of John Calvin in the middle of town square in Geneva? That's a little much.
Finally, towns that I would have really liked to go to, and would very much like to visit on a later European excursion: Dublin, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Prague, Florence, Venice, Berlin, Budapest. We'll see if that ever materializes.
Currently listening: Singularity, Mae. Review soon to follow.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Discussion of Europe, Part 2: Food
Being something of a culinary adventurer, of course one of the biggest things about Europe was being able to taste various local cuisines in their natural habitat. From fried squid sandwiches on Madrid to a good old pile of sausage in Austria, I certainly got to run a delightful gamut of meals over the last few months. Of course, in all that, one can't discount the prominence of the French hypermarket in the equation. Described by one of our American program coordinators as "Super Wal-Mart multiplied by three," the term "grocery store" doesn't begin to do Cora justice. A few further observations:
Restaurant food is really expensive. I mean, I guess it sort of is in America, too? Not nearly that bad. Let's look at, say, McDonalds. Admittedly, I don't know how much things cost at McDonalds. I don't eat there. That's not a reactionary Morgan Spurlock-eqsue movement, more of a "there isn't one on campus" combined with "I like Burger King better anyway." But there's no way that a Big Mac, medium fries, and medium Coke costs $6.15. That's how much said food cost, in Euros. So if there's no way it costs that many dollars to begin with, factor in the exchange rate to get $8.49? How they get off making me spend an Atlantic Station movie ticket to eat a hamburger, I don't know.
When we're not talking about MacDo (as the French are fond of calling it), stuff gets really pricey, really quickly. Take my lunch in Paris: a sandwich. Eight Euro. And it wasn't anywhere near as good as say a Quizno's sub, which would have cost me the same thing but in dollars.
French food is overrated. "Okay, guys, let's take a hunk of meat, slice it really fancy, and pour some sauce over it. Sweet. That's gonna run you thirteen Euro." And yet, people the world over have the impression that if it's French, it has to be marvelous. When I'm 1) abroad and 2) in a country that does not contain the Eiffel Tower, I don't need to eat at a French restaurant. Look in a travel guide for the best places to eat in most given cities, though, and what do you see? Something that starts with "Le." (Or any of the imaginative variations on "le" such as "la" or "les" or the dreaded "l-apostrophe.")
And what the hell is a Michelin star anyway? If it were up to me, I wouldn't have DeAndray and Bubba Wayne who just changed my tires cooking me food. I pretty much see it as "okay, now we can serve you less food and charge you more money for it, provided we serve it creatively." To quote the Wikipedia article on the subject, "the inspectors use secret criteria, unknown to even the most experienced chefs" and "As the Michelin Guide is published by a French company, some international food critics have denounced the rating system as inherently biased toward French cuisine." Shocking.
As with many things in Europe, the Germans have it right. Plate of sausages and sauerkraut for seven Euro? Wiener Schnitzel and weird potato ball things for nine? Good choices all around. Austrian cooking is basically the same level of deliciousness and cheapness. Bavarian is a slight variation on the theme, with the addition of the "großebretzel" or "giant pretzel." This is about a foot in diameter, and you won't spend more than three Euros for it.
A trip to Europe turns out to be a great time to drink some alcohol. Now I'm not exactly a partier. I don't think I've ever been per se "drunk." But unlike anything else you might want to ingest, the booze in Europe is surprisingly cheap. And it's really, really good. I never had an American beer that I liked. And I only had one or two European beers that I didn't like. The Hofbrauhaus is amazing. French wine is amazing. Belgian beer, Spanish sangria, the list goes on and on.
And finally, the grocery store is totally bizarre. You think you've seen weird things at your friendly neighborhood Publix? You haven't seen anything until you've browsed a French store. Walking down the meat section, you see the familiar labels of "porc" and "boeuf" and "poulet" (chicken). Then... wait a second, surely you can't buy horse here? But there it was, "cheval." The juice selection was incredible, but there wasn't a jar of peanut butter in sight. Baguettes? As far as the eye can see.
Currently listening: "Rocknroll," Lovedrug
Restaurant food is really expensive. I mean, I guess it sort of is in America, too? Not nearly that bad. Let's look at, say, McDonalds. Admittedly, I don't know how much things cost at McDonalds. I don't eat there. That's not a reactionary Morgan Spurlock-eqsue movement, more of a "there isn't one on campus" combined with "I like Burger King better anyway." But there's no way that a Big Mac, medium fries, and medium Coke costs $6.15. That's how much said food cost, in Euros. So if there's no way it costs that many dollars to begin with, factor in the exchange rate to get $8.49? How they get off making me spend an Atlantic Station movie ticket to eat a hamburger, I don't know.
When we're not talking about MacDo (as the French are fond of calling it), stuff gets really pricey, really quickly. Take my lunch in Paris: a sandwich. Eight Euro. And it wasn't anywhere near as good as say a Quizno's sub, which would have cost me the same thing but in dollars.
French food is overrated. "Okay, guys, let's take a hunk of meat, slice it really fancy, and pour some sauce over it. Sweet. That's gonna run you thirteen Euro." And yet, people the world over have the impression that if it's French, it has to be marvelous. When I'm 1) abroad and 2) in a country that does not contain the Eiffel Tower, I don't need to eat at a French restaurant. Look in a travel guide for the best places to eat in most given cities, though, and what do you see? Something that starts with "Le." (Or any of the imaginative variations on "le" such as "la" or "les" or the dreaded "l-apostrophe.")
And what the hell is a Michelin star anyway? If it were up to me, I wouldn't have DeAndray and Bubba Wayne who just changed my tires cooking me food. I pretty much see it as "okay, now we can serve you less food and charge you more money for it, provided we serve it creatively." To quote the Wikipedia article on the subject, "the inspectors use secret criteria, unknown to even the most experienced chefs" and "As the Michelin Guide is published by a French company, some international food critics have denounced the rating system as inherently biased toward French cuisine." Shocking.
As with many things in Europe, the Germans have it right. Plate of sausages and sauerkraut for seven Euro? Wiener Schnitzel and weird potato ball things for nine? Good choices all around. Austrian cooking is basically the same level of deliciousness and cheapness. Bavarian is a slight variation on the theme, with the addition of the "großebretzel" or "giant pretzel." This is about a foot in diameter, and you won't spend more than three Euros for it.
A trip to Europe turns out to be a great time to drink some alcohol. Now I'm not exactly a partier. I don't think I've ever been per se "drunk." But unlike anything else you might want to ingest, the booze in Europe is surprisingly cheap. And it's really, really good. I never had an American beer that I liked. And I only had one or two European beers that I didn't like. The Hofbrauhaus is amazing. French wine is amazing. Belgian beer, Spanish sangria, the list goes on and on.
And finally, the grocery store is totally bizarre. You think you've seen weird things at your friendly neighborhood Publix? You haven't seen anything until you've browsed a French store. Walking down the meat section, you see the familiar labels of "porc" and "boeuf" and "poulet" (chicken). Then... wait a second, surely you can't buy horse here? But there it was, "cheval." The juice selection was incredible, but there wasn't a jar of peanut butter in sight. Baguettes? As far as the eye can see.
Currently listening: "Rocknroll," Lovedrug
Monday, July 30, 2007
Discussion of Europe, Part 1: Trains
Things are winding down here at GTL. Finals are being taken (albeit not taken seriously), 6:45 am train reservations to get to Paris are in place, and plans have been made to go to the most ghetto McDonalds in Hartsfield-Jackson airport, order a large Coke, dump it down the drain for the hell of it, and get a free refill. Oh yeah. I don't know of anyone who isn't glad to be getting back to the US of A, even the most stridently progressive worldly-minded among us.
At this point, I think I have the experience to consider myself a reasonably experienced European rail traveler. I've taken trains in eight different countries, ranging from the crappiest regional Belgian train between Namur and Charleroi to the state-of-the-art German high-speed "tilting" train from Kaiserslautern to Munich. I've exercised my Eurail pass literally past the breaking point--I've had to apply at least three remedial staples to keep it attached to its cover. And I have but one more train trip to take before I can get to the airport and fly home. First, a few comments on the Eurail pass.
You might be surprised at what the Eurail Pass doesn't do for you. Clearly, it doesn't just let you hop an overnight train. You're going to have to pay a premium for those--20 Euro for a couchette bed seems to be the going rate. It might be a few less or a few more depending on who's operating the train and where the destination is. Is a couchette worth it? Generally if you're going to be getting what you deem a good night's rest, then yes. They're a little small, and the pillows suck, but you at least get a bed and a blanket. Often you'll get amenities too: a bottle of water is common, and if you're especially lucky you might get breakfast upon arrival. Oh, and don't be freaked out when the Italian train guy says "I take-a your pass-a-port." He's protecting you from it getting robbed over the night.
The other thing it doesn't do for you is get you on many high-speed trains. Germany's ICEs are free. In Italy, it costs a whopping 15 Euros for the exact same service. And everywhere else is anywhere in between.
On the other hand, you might be pleasantly surprised at what the Eurail pass does do for you. At one point, it became necessary to take a bus to the middle of nowhere, France, to a little town that doesn't have rail service. We observed other people showing their train tickets to get onto the bus for free, so we figured why not? The first person in my group to get on the bus showed his Eurail pass, and after several minutes of scrutiny, the driver said what I believe to be the French equivalent of "I don't know what this is, but I think it's okay." A few weeks later, in Geneva, we were welcomed aboard a Lake Geneva ferry with a hearty "bonjour!" by showing the Eurail pass. The German subways in every city are part of the Deutsche Bahn system, so they're covered too.
A big question is what sort of rail pass to get. In relation to the GTL program, it might be tempting to get one of those flex pass things, because after all, you're not going to be traveling by train every day of the summer. That only works, though, if you're sure you're only going to be traveling on whatever dates you set. Miss a train and have to try again the next day? Out of luck. It's possible to time the two month pass exactly right and only have to buy one additional train ticket, but it's a lot easier just to go with the three month, I think.
And finally, all trains are not created equal. German trains are remarkably efficient, and all of them are covered by the Eurail pass. They're clean and spacious, and every once in a while you're lucky enough to get an announcement in English too. Italian trains, on the other hand, are often the better part of an hour late (at one point, more than half the trains coming into Naples were delayed at least 15 minutes). They're not awful quality, except that you pay out your nose if you want to get anywhere remotely close to quickly. French and Belgian trains are unremarkable.
If you want service, though, Germany and Austria are the best places to go. Here's an anecdote illustrating the superiority of the Austrian train system over the French. A few friends and I wanted to book an overnight train from Strasbourg, France to Salzburg, Austria. We go down to the train station to do this, because there's no way that anyone can figure out to do anything online. My friend asks, "Parlez-vous anglais?" The woman responds "un peu." Things are looking up, because this is a lot more anglais than most French train people parle. "We would like to book a couchette from Strasbourg to Salzburg," my friend continues. The woman types "Stras" for the departure and double-clicks the arrival. Then she types in... "De" and brings up Germany? "No, Salzburg is in Austria," I volunteer. "Autriche."
The woman boredly hits backspace a few times, and puts in "As." Now, if I had to guess a country code for Austria, I think "As" would be a fine guess. This woman, though, should not be making a guess. This is her job. Eventually, she figures out that "At" is the right code. She looks at it for a while before declaring "No, it's not possible. All full." To be fair, this is reasonable. It's Tuesday, and we're looking to travel Friday night. Maybe it is full. "How about another way to get to Salzburg?" asks my friend. The woman says "No, the only way." I give her the benefit of the doubt and think that she understood the question as "are there any other overnight trains." So I clarify, "Are there any trains during the day on Saturday?" She doesn't input anything, but tells me "No, all full."
Things are starting to seem a bit fishy. She's telling us that the only way to get to Austria at all on Friday or Saturday is on an overnight train that's full? We already know that's not true: we have a last-ditch itinerary worked out that involves taking ICEs across Germany and getting into Salzburg around 10 hours after we left Metz. That sucks, but it's at least a way to get there. My friend and I have a quick sidebar in English. We'd really like to go somewhere East, and we're not entirely set on Austria. The guy I'm with then asks the woman, "How about Budapest?" She considers typing in "Romania" and both of us automatically respond "Hungary." That's full too.
Another English sidebar, and we decide that we might as well resign ourselves to trains all day Saturday, but at least we might be able to get one for the way back. That's a Monday night, almost a week away, and during the middle of the business week. No way that's full, right? Alas, "It's not possible." At that point, my friend and I are forced to just punt and walk out. Now it's looking like we're going to have to travel all day Saturday and all day Monday, leaving only Sunday to see all of Vienna and Salzburg. We enact out last-ditch itinerary of "travel all day Saturday" and immediately upon arriving in Austria, we ask the OBB guy if we can reserve the couchette on the way back.
"3 beds?" he asks. "60 Euros total."
Currently listening: "Benzin" from Rosenrot, Rammstein
At this point, I think I have the experience to consider myself a reasonably experienced European rail traveler. I've taken trains in eight different countries, ranging from the crappiest regional Belgian train between Namur and Charleroi to the state-of-the-art German high-speed "tilting" train from Kaiserslautern to Munich. I've exercised my Eurail pass literally past the breaking point--I've had to apply at least three remedial staples to keep it attached to its cover. And I have but one more train trip to take before I can get to the airport and fly home. First, a few comments on the Eurail pass.
You might be surprised at what the Eurail Pass doesn't do for you. Clearly, it doesn't just let you hop an overnight train. You're going to have to pay a premium for those--20 Euro for a couchette bed seems to be the going rate. It might be a few less or a few more depending on who's operating the train and where the destination is. Is a couchette worth it? Generally if you're going to be getting what you deem a good night's rest, then yes. They're a little small, and the pillows suck, but you at least get a bed and a blanket. Often you'll get amenities too: a bottle of water is common, and if you're especially lucky you might get breakfast upon arrival. Oh, and don't be freaked out when the Italian train guy says "I take-a your pass-a-port." He's protecting you from it getting robbed over the night.
The other thing it doesn't do for you is get you on many high-speed trains. Germany's ICEs are free. In Italy, it costs a whopping 15 Euros for the exact same service. And everywhere else is anywhere in between.
On the other hand, you might be pleasantly surprised at what the Eurail pass does do for you. At one point, it became necessary to take a bus to the middle of nowhere, France, to a little town that doesn't have rail service. We observed other people showing their train tickets to get onto the bus for free, so we figured why not? The first person in my group to get on the bus showed his Eurail pass, and after several minutes of scrutiny, the driver said what I believe to be the French equivalent of "I don't know what this is, but I think it's okay." A few weeks later, in Geneva, we were welcomed aboard a Lake Geneva ferry with a hearty "bonjour!" by showing the Eurail pass. The German subways in every city are part of the Deutsche Bahn system, so they're covered too.
A big question is what sort of rail pass to get. In relation to the GTL program, it might be tempting to get one of those flex pass things, because after all, you're not going to be traveling by train every day of the summer. That only works, though, if you're sure you're only going to be traveling on whatever dates you set. Miss a train and have to try again the next day? Out of luck. It's possible to time the two month pass exactly right and only have to buy one additional train ticket, but it's a lot easier just to go with the three month, I think.
And finally, all trains are not created equal. German trains are remarkably efficient, and all of them are covered by the Eurail pass. They're clean and spacious, and every once in a while you're lucky enough to get an announcement in English too. Italian trains, on the other hand, are often the better part of an hour late (at one point, more than half the trains coming into Naples were delayed at least 15 minutes). They're not awful quality, except that you pay out your nose if you want to get anywhere remotely close to quickly. French and Belgian trains are unremarkable.
If you want service, though, Germany and Austria are the best places to go. Here's an anecdote illustrating the superiority of the Austrian train system over the French. A few friends and I wanted to book an overnight train from Strasbourg, France to Salzburg, Austria. We go down to the train station to do this, because there's no way that anyone can figure out to do anything online. My friend asks, "Parlez-vous anglais?" The woman responds "un peu." Things are looking up, because this is a lot more anglais than most French train people parle. "We would like to book a couchette from Strasbourg to Salzburg," my friend continues. The woman types "Stras" for the departure and double-clicks the arrival. Then she types in... "De" and brings up Germany? "No, Salzburg is in Austria," I volunteer. "Autriche."
The woman boredly hits backspace a few times, and puts in "As." Now, if I had to guess a country code for Austria, I think "As" would be a fine guess. This woman, though, should not be making a guess. This is her job. Eventually, she figures out that "At" is the right code. She looks at it for a while before declaring "No, it's not possible. All full." To be fair, this is reasonable. It's Tuesday, and we're looking to travel Friday night. Maybe it is full. "How about another way to get to Salzburg?" asks my friend. The woman says "No, the only way." I give her the benefit of the doubt and think that she understood the question as "are there any other overnight trains." So I clarify, "Are there any trains during the day on Saturday?" She doesn't input anything, but tells me "No, all full."
Things are starting to seem a bit fishy. She's telling us that the only way to get to Austria at all on Friday or Saturday is on an overnight train that's full? We already know that's not true: we have a last-ditch itinerary worked out that involves taking ICEs across Germany and getting into Salzburg around 10 hours after we left Metz. That sucks, but it's at least a way to get there. My friend and I have a quick sidebar in English. We'd really like to go somewhere East, and we're not entirely set on Austria. The guy I'm with then asks the woman, "How about Budapest?" She considers typing in "Romania" and both of us automatically respond "Hungary." That's full too.
Another English sidebar, and we decide that we might as well resign ourselves to trains all day Saturday, but at least we might be able to get one for the way back. That's a Monday night, almost a week away, and during the middle of the business week. No way that's full, right? Alas, "It's not possible." At that point, my friend and I are forced to just punt and walk out. Now it's looking like we're going to have to travel all day Saturday and all day Monday, leaving only Sunday to see all of Vienna and Salzburg. We enact out last-ditch itinerary of "travel all day Saturday" and immediately upon arriving in Austria, we ask the OBB guy if we can reserve the couchette on the way back.
"3 beds?" he asks. "60 Euros total."
Currently listening: "Benzin" from Rosenrot, Rammstein
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Expatriation
Think of the strangest 4th of July experience you could have as an American citizen. You may be having fanciful visions of oppression in Iron Curtain Europe, or malaria in the jungles of Panama, or subsistence in some remote African village where they may not even know it is the Fourth of July, or even care for that matter. And yes, you'd be right, those would be strange Fourths of July indeed. How about sitting in the common room of a French campus of an American university? This would involve colored mood lighting--not red, white, and blue, mind you, but red and orange. It would incorporate that most American of music genres, jazz, as performed by a duo of French musicians. The food would not be entirely out of place: sausage, chicken, and pork on the grill, but with a strange European twist of paprika-flavored potato chips. (This was later determined to be a conspiracy, as these tasted strangely similar to barbecue chips back from the States.)
And the day's entertainment? No fireworks, of course, but that can almost be excused on the basis of a rainy morning and afternoon. This rainy morning and afternoon, spent in the World War I battleground of Verdun. Verdun is a strange choice for such a day of American patriotism, as no American regiments actually fought at Verdun. One American was killed at the battle, an ambulance driver who volunteered with the French army, but the good old AEF would not enter the way for another year at that point.
More than just being a strange place to celebrate American patriotism, Verdun is a strange place to celebrate much of anything. I think the operative word here is "somber." Touring the inside of Fort Douaumont is at least historically interesting, and the memorial has plenty of military relevance in the form of artillery and old uniforms. Taking a look around, though, you see acre after acre of shell-shocked land, miniature hills and valleys that have been a part of the landscape since 1916 that nobody has any reason to think will ever go away. Then you come to the graveyard: row after row of "mort pour le France," "mort pour le France." Taking all of this in combination with weather that Seattle seems to have modeled itself off of, and you get a 4th of July that's more depressing than anything.
And apple pie? Forget about it, though there were some tasty apples available; imagine crust and cinnamon and sugar and you're almost there.
Tangent: I just found the drop-down that lets me access Blogger in English. This made me very, very happy, despite the cloud cover that is still reminiscent of an Atlanta February.
I know when I've been beaten, and it looks like time to clarify my position on the Harry Potter finale just a little bit. It's interesting how negative the reaction has been to using Norton's standards of "classic" to describe the Harry Potter books. Even so, I believe my argument remains essentially the same, even disregarding the entire "classic/not a classic" framework. To quote Nick's comment from the previous post, "there is substantial difference between a book that is enjoyable and layered throughout [...] and a book that sacrifices all of that hard work for the sake of a pat and satisfying ending." And to me, making Snape a clear-cut Good Guy or a clear-cut Bad Guy is doing exactly that: taking the only morally intriguing character in the series and defenestrating everything that was interesting about him.
One hallmark of a good piece of literature--whether a "classic" or whatever else you want to call it, is allowing the reader to consider what's happening in it and make his own conclusions about at least a few points. In Harry Potter, we're told virtually everything else outright; allowing her readers to make their own conclusions regarding Snape is the least Rowling could do.
One comment Gina made on the Book of Faces goes like this: "Snape is too intelligent not to understand the bigger picture and to have an opinion on it." Too true. And the only thing that makes sense, given everything that we know about his character from books 1-6, is that this "opinion" is "how do I manipulate everyone so that I come out the best for myself?" He's a Slytherin, so he's nothing if not ambitious.
One further comment by Gina: "If she does have him turn out to be good, it further enforces what Sirius (or perhaps Lupin) says in Order of the Phoenix, 'The world isn't broken down into good people and Death Eaters.'" This one I definitely disagree with. If he turns out to be a Good Guy (or a Bad Guy, for that matter), it shows that the world absolutely is broken down into Good Guys and Bad Guys. When I read that quote, I immediately thought of Snape. Virtually everyone else we know of it one or the other (aside from the people at the Ministry of Magic, who are probably the least compelling and developed characters in the series). I still argue that not only does the setting Rowling has created benefit immensely if he's somewhere in between, it actually suffers if he's not.
A final question on the issue: what does everyone think about having Snape's allegiance go completely unresolved? What if Rowling were to kill him off before we knew for sure? We already know that this isn't going to happen of course, but I'm interested how people would see that. A cop-out, merely a literary trick to escape making a tough narrative decision? Or an act of realism, a final stroke to give the reader something to think about once the book is finished?
Currently listening: "Kalimba Story," Earth Wind and Fire
And the day's entertainment? No fireworks, of course, but that can almost be excused on the basis of a rainy morning and afternoon. This rainy morning and afternoon, spent in the World War I battleground of Verdun. Verdun is a strange choice for such a day of American patriotism, as no American regiments actually fought at Verdun. One American was killed at the battle, an ambulance driver who volunteered with the French army, but the good old AEF would not enter the way for another year at that point.
More than just being a strange place to celebrate American patriotism, Verdun is a strange place to celebrate much of anything. I think the operative word here is "somber." Touring the inside of Fort Douaumont is at least historically interesting, and the memorial has plenty of military relevance in the form of artillery and old uniforms. Taking a look around, though, you see acre after acre of shell-shocked land, miniature hills and valleys that have been a part of the landscape since 1916 that nobody has any reason to think will ever go away. Then you come to the graveyard: row after row of "mort pour le France," "mort pour le France." Taking all of this in combination with weather that Seattle seems to have modeled itself off of, and you get a 4th of July that's more depressing than anything.
And apple pie? Forget about it, though there were some tasty apples available; imagine crust and cinnamon and sugar and you're almost there.
Tangent: I just found the drop-down that lets me access Blogger in English. This made me very, very happy, despite the cloud cover that is still reminiscent of an Atlanta February.
I know when I've been beaten, and it looks like time to clarify my position on the Harry Potter finale just a little bit. It's interesting how negative the reaction has been to using Norton's standards of "classic" to describe the Harry Potter books. Even so, I believe my argument remains essentially the same, even disregarding the entire "classic/not a classic" framework. To quote Nick's comment from the previous post, "there is substantial difference between a book that is enjoyable and layered throughout [...] and a book that sacrifices all of that hard work for the sake of a pat and satisfying ending." And to me, making Snape a clear-cut Good Guy or a clear-cut Bad Guy is doing exactly that: taking the only morally intriguing character in the series and defenestrating everything that was interesting about him.
One hallmark of a good piece of literature--whether a "classic" or whatever else you want to call it, is allowing the reader to consider what's happening in it and make his own conclusions about at least a few points. In Harry Potter, we're told virtually everything else outright; allowing her readers to make their own conclusions regarding Snape is the least Rowling could do.
One comment Gina made on the Book of Faces goes like this: "Snape is too intelligent not to understand the bigger picture and to have an opinion on it." Too true. And the only thing that makes sense, given everything that we know about his character from books 1-6, is that this "opinion" is "how do I manipulate everyone so that I come out the best for myself?" He's a Slytherin, so he's nothing if not ambitious.
One further comment by Gina: "If she does have him turn out to be good, it further enforces what Sirius (or perhaps Lupin) says in Order of the Phoenix, 'The world isn't broken down into good people and Death Eaters.'" This one I definitely disagree with. If he turns out to be a Good Guy (or a Bad Guy, for that matter), it shows that the world absolutely is broken down into Good Guys and Bad Guys. When I read that quote, I immediately thought of Snape. Virtually everyone else we know of it one or the other (aside from the people at the Ministry of Magic, who are probably the least compelling and developed characters in the series). I still argue that not only does the setting Rowling has created benefit immensely if he's somewhere in between, it actually suffers if he's not.
A final question on the issue: what does everyone think about having Snape's allegiance go completely unresolved? What if Rowling were to kill him off before we knew for sure? We already know that this isn't going to happen of course, but I'm interested how people would see that. A cop-out, merely a literary trick to escape making a tough narrative decision? Or an act of realism, a final stroke to give the reader something to think about once the book is finished?
Currently listening: "Kalimba Story," Earth Wind and Fire
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
How to Change a Life
I'm not going to assert that Barcelona was disappointing. On the contrary, it was a lot of fun, a thoroughly enjoyable trip. Evidently it was supposed to be a "life-changing" experience, though, and that it just wasn't. Maybe if you're the type that organizes weekend trips around bars and getting drunk, Barcelona is the place to be. I don't necessarily subscribe to that method of travel... oh well. Then again, the guide to Bruges told me not to spend any money on chocolate (and spend it on beer instead) and that I didn't care about the Michaelangelo sculpture in the cathedral. So perhaps I just don't fit into the "backpack across Europe" stereotype either.
So far, Rome has been the closest thing to "life-changing" that I've seen. It was a Bad Idea to attempt to see all of it in a day, that's for sure. How do you do Rome in a day? Simple: skip the Fountain of Trevi, the Pantheon, the Circus Maximus and Old Appian Way, the Capitoline Museums, and the Vatican Museum. Clearly, that's not idea. So, in the spirit of the multitude of travel guides that I've relied on thus far, here's my advice on seeing Rome.
Before you arrive, you'll need to consider where to stay. There are three things you want in a hotel: location, quality, and value. Pick any two. You will not be able to find a cheap and decent hotel in the city center. For that matter, you will probably not be able to find a cheap hotel at all, regardless of quality, in the city center.
Don't try to see the Eternal City in anything less than three and a half days. Arrive one day in the afternoon or evening, and don't rush out to any of the premiere destinations that day. Instead, get some coffee or gelato, wander by the Fountain of Trevi, or do anything else that doesn't demand a huge investment of sightseeing effort.
The next day, wake up early enough to get in line for the Colosseum the second it opens. The line for the Colosseum is enormously long, though it moves faster than you might think. Gawk at the men who have the best jobs in all of Rome: the costumed gladiators who point their swords in the right direction to get in line. Once you're inside, have fun archaeologing it up. The ticket costs eleven Euros, and don't bother trying to get a student discount unless you're a student who lives in an EU country. That doesn't include taking classes in an EU college if you're not a citizen. If the eleven Euros doesn't seem quite worth it once you've gotten there, I sort of agree. For pure ruin potential, Pompeii is much better and a Euro cheaper. Luckily, that ticket also allows you admission up the Palatine Hill and the gardens and ruins there. You'll see the Roman Forum below you; don't be tempted to see that today. Spend a little quality time on the Palatine: after you've walked around the Colosseum and up the Palatine, the gardens are an excellent place to relax. Eat. Now go a bit to the south, and see even more of the ancient landmarks, like the Circus Maximus and the Old Appian Way.
Next day, devote the entire thing to the heart of the ancient city. Start with the Roman Forum, and see the temples, the Arch of Septimus, the New Senate House, and the original SPQR arch. If you can, try and stumble upon a guided tour. I managed to find one that was at once free and extremely informative.
I'm a bit of a Roman history/culture geek, and even I learned some things about how ancient Rome worked. For instance, the reason the Christians were persecuted in Rome wasn't because of their belief in Jesus. On the contrary, the Romans were the most religiously tolerant empire until the Mongols, twelve centuries later. The persecution only came when they refused to bow before the image of the God-Emperor Julius Caesar. The tour guide likened this to JFK in America: an extremely popular leader who was killed. What if his successor, Lyndon Johnson, built a temple to JFK in the National Mall near the Capitol building and made the entire country pay their respects to him as a god?
See the rest of the Forum. Eat. Now walk up the next hill, the Capitoline, and spend the rest of the day in the museums there. You can see ancient artwork and statue dating back from Etruscan times.
Last day, see the Vatican. If you're of a religious (ie, Catholic) bent, go to a Mass here; you'll need a special pass that you can only get a few days beforehand. I don't know how to go about that. The Basilica itself is too touristy, with a line almost as long as the Colosseum to get in and half of it roped off at any give point. But it's still impressive. Be sure to see the Pieta. Go see the treasury, which showcases the immense power and wealth of the early church, located in the basilica itself. Gawk at crystal monstrances and cloth of gold vestments. Afterwards, climb the steps or take the elevator to the dome. Finally, see the grotto, with tombs of most popes since 1300. Eat. Devote the rest of the day to the Vatican Museum, which is supposed to be really impressive. Just be sure to make sure it's open. Specifically, don't go on Sunday, unless it's the last Sunday of the month. Get there before about 2 pm; otherwise you might not be let in.
Now have some more coffee or gelato, and you're done!
Currently listening: "Oh Comely," Neutral Milk Hotel
So far, Rome has been the closest thing to "life-changing" that I've seen. It was a Bad Idea to attempt to see all of it in a day, that's for sure. How do you do Rome in a day? Simple: skip the Fountain of Trevi, the Pantheon, the Circus Maximus and Old Appian Way, the Capitoline Museums, and the Vatican Museum. Clearly, that's not idea. So, in the spirit of the multitude of travel guides that I've relied on thus far, here's my advice on seeing Rome.
Before you arrive, you'll need to consider where to stay. There are three things you want in a hotel: location, quality, and value. Pick any two. You will not be able to find a cheap and decent hotel in the city center. For that matter, you will probably not be able to find a cheap hotel at all, regardless of quality, in the city center.
Don't try to see the Eternal City in anything less than three and a half days. Arrive one day in the afternoon or evening, and don't rush out to any of the premiere destinations that day. Instead, get some coffee or gelato, wander by the Fountain of Trevi, or do anything else that doesn't demand a huge investment of sightseeing effort.
The next day, wake up early enough to get in line for the Colosseum the second it opens. The line for the Colosseum is enormously long, though it moves faster than you might think. Gawk at the men who have the best jobs in all of Rome: the costumed gladiators who point their swords in the right direction to get in line. Once you're inside, have fun archaeologing it up. The ticket costs eleven Euros, and don't bother trying to get a student discount unless you're a student who lives in an EU country. That doesn't include taking classes in an EU college if you're not a citizen. If the eleven Euros doesn't seem quite worth it once you've gotten there, I sort of agree. For pure ruin potential, Pompeii is much better and a Euro cheaper. Luckily, that ticket also allows you admission up the Palatine Hill and the gardens and ruins there. You'll see the Roman Forum below you; don't be tempted to see that today. Spend a little quality time on the Palatine: after you've walked around the Colosseum and up the Palatine, the gardens are an excellent place to relax. Eat. Now go a bit to the south, and see even more of the ancient landmarks, like the Circus Maximus and the Old Appian Way.
Next day, devote the entire thing to the heart of the ancient city. Start with the Roman Forum, and see the temples, the Arch of Septimus, the New Senate House, and the original SPQR arch. If you can, try and stumble upon a guided tour. I managed to find one that was at once free and extremely informative.
I'm a bit of a Roman history/culture geek, and even I learned some things about how ancient Rome worked. For instance, the reason the Christians were persecuted in Rome wasn't because of their belief in Jesus. On the contrary, the Romans were the most religiously tolerant empire until the Mongols, twelve centuries later. The persecution only came when they refused to bow before the image of the God-Emperor Julius Caesar. The tour guide likened this to JFK in America: an extremely popular leader who was killed. What if his successor, Lyndon Johnson, built a temple to JFK in the National Mall near the Capitol building and made the entire country pay their respects to him as a god?
See the rest of the Forum. Eat. Now walk up the next hill, the Capitoline, and spend the rest of the day in the museums there. You can see ancient artwork and statue dating back from Etruscan times.
Last day, see the Vatican. If you're of a religious (ie, Catholic) bent, go to a Mass here; you'll need a special pass that you can only get a few days beforehand. I don't know how to go about that. The Basilica itself is too touristy, with a line almost as long as the Colosseum to get in and half of it roped off at any give point. But it's still impressive. Be sure to see the Pieta. Go see the treasury, which showcases the immense power and wealth of the early church, located in the basilica itself. Gawk at crystal monstrances and cloth of gold vestments. Afterwards, climb the steps or take the elevator to the dome. Finally, see the grotto, with tombs of most popes since 1300. Eat. Devote the rest of the day to the Vatican Museum, which is supposed to be really impressive. Just be sure to make sure it's open. Specifically, don't go on Sunday, unless it's the last Sunday of the month. Get there before about 2 pm; otherwise you might not be let in.
Now have some more coffee or gelato, and you're done!
Currently listening: "Oh Comely," Neutral Milk Hotel
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Things Liked and Disliked, In Brief
Europe is a lot of fun, no doubt about it. But if there were an official Bureau of Complaints Against Europe (such a thing probably exists in Brussels), I would have the following to register:
Graffiti. Seriously, people. Spraypainting "socialisme" on a fence on the outskirts of Barcelona is not a cutting-edge political statement. If you've never been to Europe, think of the intersection of Boulevard and Memorial Drive and multiply the amount of graffiti you anticipate by about ten. I don't know if it's more graffitiers, fewer resources dedicated to getting rid of it, or just an overabundance of spray paint available. It's a big problem, whatever is causing it. It makes otherwise beautiful and historic cities look rundown.
And on the other side, for the Bureau of Good Things about Europe:
Old-fashioned granny-run hotels. It's nothing short of amazing when you can hand a little old lady a 50 Euro bill and get a medieval looking key to a three bed room in return, no questions asked. No Spanish? Doesn't matter. As long as a private shower and a fancy bar of soap to take home aren't your top priorities, you're good to go.
Look again at Photobucket, this time updated with Spain picutres.
Currently listening: "Sea Songs," Vaughan Williams
Graffiti. Seriously, people. Spraypainting "socialisme" on a fence on the outskirts of Barcelona is not a cutting-edge political statement. If you've never been to Europe, think of the intersection of Boulevard and Memorial Drive and multiply the amount of graffiti you anticipate by about ten. I don't know if it's more graffitiers, fewer resources dedicated to getting rid of it, or just an overabundance of spray paint available. It's a big problem, whatever is causing it. It makes otherwise beautiful and historic cities look rundown.
And on the other side, for the Bureau of Good Things about Europe:
Old-fashioned granny-run hotels. It's nothing short of amazing when you can hand a little old lady a 50 Euro bill and get a medieval looking key to a three bed room in return, no questions asked. No Spanish? Doesn't matter. As long as a private shower and a fancy bar of soap to take home aren't your top priorities, you're good to go.
Look again at Photobucket, this time updated with Spain picutres.
Currently listening: "Sea Songs," Vaughan Williams
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
I Just Can't Wait to be (Deputy) King
Tanna, obscure island in Melanesia. Part of Vanuatu and famous for cannibalism, resistance to modernization, and John Frum cargo cults. And I have a tenuous connection to its royalty.
I know a guy (Forrest) whose dad knows a guy (Dr. Heinz Egli) who may or may not be king of Tanna. He's deputy king at the very least. On this island, there was a legend of a white man who would appear on a raft after an earthquake and a volcano eruption. Enter a man whose name I forget, who is clever enough to sit on a raft during an earthquake and wait for the volcano to erupt (as it does every few minutes). Sailing up to the island, he is hailed as King. Things are happy in Tanna for a while.
Now enter the British, who colonially own the island. They're afraid of an armed rebellion--as well they should be, with the one rifle on the island. A detachment of one hundred soldiers lands on the island to seize its rifle and flag, but the King will have none of it. He gives the British a day to withdraw and return the rifle and flag or he will declare war on them--and on the French for good measure. And after a day of noncompliance, the King of Tanna writes a letter to the Queen of England, the President of France, and the Secretary-General of the United Nations to declare war.
The war is ended in a day when British troops arrest the king and imprison him.
Now enter Dr. Heinz Egli, international activist and advocate for Tanna's traditional movement. He manages to get the King out of jail and help the natives a bit, and for this, he is rewarded the title of Viceroy. A bit of a snag here: he's Swiss, and like the Americans, the Swiss can't accept foreign titles. But a loophole presents itself: the Swiss government wouldn't object to a title that they didn't know the significance of, and English not being an official language of the country, Dr. Egli can accept the title of Deputy King.
Sadly, the King passed away a few years ago, and astonishingly, lines of succession aren't clear in Tanna. Should the Deputy King become King? The King's son? Should an entirely new legend be written to predict the next king? Until this matter is resolved, Dr. Egli is content to be Deputy King.
His duties? Go there once a year and help them to advance while still maintaining traditional customs. Oh, and have songs composed and pigs slaughtered in his honor. Sounds like a fine job to me.
Pictures of Dr. Egli's castle/current home can be found at the Photobucket page: http://s183.photobucket.com/albums/x157/Teravius/ Those interested are encouraged to check the page repeatedly, as new pictures should show up at least weekly for the whole summer.
Currently listening: "Piano Concerto in F," George Gershwin
I know a guy (Forrest) whose dad knows a guy (Dr. Heinz Egli) who may or may not be king of Tanna. He's deputy king at the very least. On this island, there was a legend of a white man who would appear on a raft after an earthquake and a volcano eruption. Enter a man whose name I forget, who is clever enough to sit on a raft during an earthquake and wait for the volcano to erupt (as it does every few minutes). Sailing up to the island, he is hailed as King. Things are happy in Tanna for a while.
Now enter the British, who colonially own the island. They're afraid of an armed rebellion--as well they should be, with the one rifle on the island. A detachment of one hundred soldiers lands on the island to seize its rifle and flag, but the King will have none of it. He gives the British a day to withdraw and return the rifle and flag or he will declare war on them--and on the French for good measure. And after a day of noncompliance, the King of Tanna writes a letter to the Queen of England, the President of France, and the Secretary-General of the United Nations to declare war.
The war is ended in a day when British troops arrest the king and imprison him.
Now enter Dr. Heinz Egli, international activist and advocate for Tanna's traditional movement. He manages to get the King out of jail and help the natives a bit, and for this, he is rewarded the title of Viceroy. A bit of a snag here: he's Swiss, and like the Americans, the Swiss can't accept foreign titles. But a loophole presents itself: the Swiss government wouldn't object to a title that they didn't know the significance of, and English not being an official language of the country, Dr. Egli can accept the title of Deputy King.
Sadly, the King passed away a few years ago, and astonishingly, lines of succession aren't clear in Tanna. Should the Deputy King become King? The King's son? Should an entirely new legend be written to predict the next king? Until this matter is resolved, Dr. Egli is content to be Deputy King.
His duties? Go there once a year and help them to advance while still maintaining traditional customs. Oh, and have songs composed and pigs slaughtered in his honor. Sounds like a fine job to me.
Pictures of Dr. Egli's castle/current home can be found at the Photobucket page: http://s183.photobucket.com/albums/x157/Teravius/ Those interested are encouraged to check the page repeatedly, as new pictures should show up at least weekly for the whole summer.
Currently listening: "Piano Concerto in F," George Gershwin
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Transalpine Gaul
Naturally, if I'm going to be blogging from Europe, I'm going to use the most pretentious terms possible to describe what's going on. And technically, Lyon and Grenoble are not in the Roman province of Transalpine Gaul, but close enough. A few scattered impressions to start things off:
France is energy-conscious, it turns out. Obsessively so. You can't leave the lights on in the hallways, no matter how hard you try: most of them are equipped with 60-second timers. Now, turning off the lights when you leave the room is one thing; not having air conditioning is another entirely. The only building in GTL that's air conditioned is the computer lab, from whence this entry originates. Dorm rooms? Nope. Classrooms? Out of luck there too.
I also don't know how these people stay hydrated. Water fountains are as rare as air-conditioned rooms, and a bottle of water is something extortionary like 2 euros. That makes old water bottles and sinks very valuable things.
The Decemberists have it right: Orangina is an amazing beverage.
The Brits, on the other hand, have some very bizarre tastes in beverage. Here's a new one. The guy next to me wanted tomato juice with his pretzel snack (I got Sprite). I thought that was a little weird, but whatever. The thing is, the attendant, without missing a beat, asks "Worcester and lemon?" to which the guy responds "please." She then proceeds to shake in a few drops of Worcester and put in a slice of lemon and hand it to the guy. Then the same scene repeats with a woman two rows behind me.
On my quest to become a wine snob, I've bought one bottle. It was a Pinot Gris from the Moselle (the river that runs through Metz), a white that was really good chilled. I don't know how to properly use words like "crunchy" or "refreshing minerality" yet, but I'm sure it was both those things too.
The French, for some reason, really like their pizza. But it's bizarre pizza, like Roquefort cheese and onion pizza. As for food, apparently Lyon is the cuisine capital of France, or something. So at the restaurant we went to, I decided to have a Lyonnaise specialty of "(word I can't read) sausage (words I can't read)." This turned out to be tripe sausage, which I believe to be rolled up intestine in a sausage casing. It was chewy and a little bitter, but not terrible.
One of the weirdest things is the cars you see, like Renault, Peugeot, and Citroen. It's almost a breath of fresh air to see good American cars like Toyotas and Mercedes.
And I'm going to be staying in a castle for the weekend.
For those interested, here are some pictures from the first week: http://s183.photobucket.com/albums/x157/Teravius/
Currently listening: "My Slumbering Heart," Rilo Kiley
France is energy-conscious, it turns out. Obsessively so. You can't leave the lights on in the hallways, no matter how hard you try: most of them are equipped with 60-second timers. Now, turning off the lights when you leave the room is one thing; not having air conditioning is another entirely. The only building in GTL that's air conditioned is the computer lab, from whence this entry originates. Dorm rooms? Nope. Classrooms? Out of luck there too.
I also don't know how these people stay hydrated. Water fountains are as rare as air-conditioned rooms, and a bottle of water is something extortionary like 2 euros. That makes old water bottles and sinks very valuable things.
The Decemberists have it right: Orangina is an amazing beverage.
The Brits, on the other hand, have some very bizarre tastes in beverage. Here's a new one. The guy next to me wanted tomato juice with his pretzel snack (I got Sprite). I thought that was a little weird, but whatever. The thing is, the attendant, without missing a beat, asks "Worcester and lemon?" to which the guy responds "please." She then proceeds to shake in a few drops of Worcester and put in a slice of lemon and hand it to the guy. Then the same scene repeats with a woman two rows behind me.
On my quest to become a wine snob, I've bought one bottle. It was a Pinot Gris from the Moselle (the river that runs through Metz), a white that was really good chilled. I don't know how to properly use words like "crunchy" or "refreshing minerality" yet, but I'm sure it was both those things too.
The French, for some reason, really like their pizza. But it's bizarre pizza, like Roquefort cheese and onion pizza. As for food, apparently Lyon is the cuisine capital of France, or something. So at the restaurant we went to, I decided to have a Lyonnaise specialty of "(word I can't read) sausage (words I can't read)." This turned out to be tripe sausage, which I believe to be rolled up intestine in a sausage casing. It was chewy and a little bitter, but not terrible.
One of the weirdest things is the cars you see, like Renault, Peugeot, and Citroen. It's almost a breath of fresh air to see good American cars like Toyotas and Mercedes.
And I'm going to be staying in a castle for the weekend.
For those interested, here are some pictures from the first week: http://s183.photobucket.com/albums/x157/Teravius/
Currently listening: "My Slumbering Heart," Rilo Kiley
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